


In Threes

by AndAllMannerofThings



Series: Falling Rain [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types, Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce is a mental and emotional wreck that really ought to go to therapy, Clark really needs to relax, Developing Relationship, Diana is Pure, F/M, First Kiss, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 18:56:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16728981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndAllMannerofThings/pseuds/AndAllMannerofThings
Summary: "I don't need your help. I'm fine.""Bruce, we've known each other far too long for you to still be able to lie to me."They've known each other for years. Sometimes it seems they may know each other more than they know themselves, especially when it comes to long buried affection.





	1. Stay. Please.

**Author's Note:**

> The characterization of the three - especially Bruce's mannerisms and style of speech - is heavily inspired by Unpretty's Sorrowful and Immaculate Hearts, but it should go without saying that this story does not take place in that series, or in any particular canonical DC setting.

“Goodness, that’s quite a scratch.”

The three of them were on their way back to the Watchtower following thirty-six hours spent saving the world. Clark was in the cockpit, content to manually fly the Javelin as opposed to autopilot (Bruce told him at least ten times that he was perfectly capable of flying the craft himself, and that there was no need for the two metahumans to take the slow route, but he _insisted_ ). Bruce was in the rear of the passenger compartment, stitching and bandaging his wounds. He had assumed Diana was elsewhere in the craft, and had grown so focused on his task that he did not notice her standing next to him until she spoke.

He was getting sloppy. Injuries and sleep deprivation aside, he had no excuse to be blindsided by that. Best practice some more when he got back to Gotham.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” he said. It was true. The cut snaking across his stomach was much less deep than it was long. If he took care of it properly, it most likely wouldn’t even leave a mark.

Diana, however, was not looking at his most recent injury, her eyes were wandering over his arms, chest, and shoulders.

Bruce wished he was still wearing his cowl. Made it easier to hide when he was flustered. Still, he kept a straight face. “What is it.”

Diana blinked, long lashes fluttering over her crystal eyes. “Oh, sorry! I just - I’m always surprised to see you have so many scars.”

He had somewhere around fifty-seven of them, last time he counted. If there was an injury a human could be subjected to - gunshots, stabbings, burns, blunt force, compound fractures - odds were Bruce had experienced it at least once.

“It comes with the territory,” he replied, breaking eye contact. “We all can’t be as durable as aliens or warriors molded by the gods, princess.”

They’d known each other for the better part of a decade, and Diana was always quick to remind him that their relationship had long passed the point where formalities were necessary. Still, the shy grin she always gave when he called her that only served to encourage him.

A faint flush danced on her cheeks. “I know that, but sometimes I forget how fragile you are.”

From anyone else in the League - damn, maybe even Clark - Bruce might’ve taken it as an insult or a challenge. From Diana, however, it sounded as genuine as she meant it.

“You have scars too,” Bruce pointed out, cocking his head. “It’s not like I’m unique.”

Diana smirked. “True. But mine come from fighting deities and monsters.” She pointed at a gouge on her bicep. “This was from being stabbed by the god of war.” Now a ring of tears on her left knee. “A bite from a enchanted serpent. For all I know, yours could be the result of tripping down stairs. You never share any stories.”

Maybe the Amazons of Themyscira delighted in telling tales about their wounds and triumphs, but Bruce never made a habit of it: according to Dick, he was one of the worst storytellers the world had ever seen, and many of the scars brought back memories he would rather forget.

Diana took his lack of a declination as a sign to continue. She pointed to a large pale splotch above his hip, the skin discolored and rougher than surrounding area. “Like this. Who could possibly have done that?”

Bruce rubbed the spot with his fingertips, and he could almost smell the burning skin. “Riddler. He had robotic alligators that shot acid. I wouldn’t have been hit, but the mailman distracted me.”

Diana waited for him to elaborate. When she realised he had no intentions of doing so, she brought his attention to a slice across his left pectoral. “And this?”

“Ra’s al Ghul. He challenged me to duel to prove my worth. Again. I won. Again.”

Diana walked around Bruce, scrutinizing each scar as though it were a book in a library just waiting to tell a story. If anyone else in the League (except maybe Clark) had studied him like that, Bruce would’ve probably told them to knock it off, or left himself. The attention from her, though, was not entirely unwelcome.

Ah, who the hell was he kidding. He  _ enjoyed  _ it. Always had, always will. There was something about her that had that effect on him. Or maybe it was a lot of somethings: her pure heart, her steadfast nature, the way she would brighten up the spirits of a room just by being in it. She was one of the few special persons in the world that could actually give him hope.

Best not let his mind wander. Bruce learned a long time ago not to put stock in attachments like the sort he wanted with people like Diana. He would only drag her down, like he did to practically everyone he knew.

Diana paused as she examined his back. He didn’t need to ask which one she was looking at. He already knew: long ragged cuts encircled by a ring of burns.

If he closed his eyes, he could probably hear himself yelling for Robin to stay with him.

“By Hera. Who?” she asked. There was steel in her voice - almost sounded like she wanted to avenge him. Probably would, if he let her. Probably would regardless.

“Joker.” He sighed, collected himself, and tried to keep his voice even. “When he had Jason.”

There was silence that was neither comfortable or short.

“I’m sorry,” Diana eventually said, leaning against the hull of the ship. “I shouldn’t have pried.”

“Not your fault.” Bruce finished applying the bandaging and set the supplies on the floor. “Like you said, I don’t talk about these things much. Or ever.”

Another silence - louder than words, this one.

Just when Bruce thought the conversation had let itself mercifully die, Diana asked, “He’s been back for some time now, hasn’t he? Jason?”

Bruce almost told her to drop it, but he was more angry at himself than her. “Yes.” He swallowed. “We don’t talk much, lately. I haven’t seen him in five months.”

Five months. Christ. No wonder just thinking about Jay made a lump form in his throat.

Served him right, anyhow. Jay didn’t owe him anything, and even if he did, Bruce didn’t deserve it.

He didn’t deserve a lot of things.

“I’m sorry,” Diana said again, quietly.

“Again: not your fault.” Jesus, why was he snapping at her like this? She was one of the handful of people he honestly trusted anymore, and he couldn’t even accept her sympathy without trying to push her away.

Best leave before he made anything worse.

Bruce shoved the medical supplies away and made to stand. Before he could even rise from his seat, Diana placed her hand on his back - at the center of the scars - freezing him in his place and sending lightning through his spine.

“I’m sorry you blame yourself,” she continued. “I’m sorry you don’t think your life is worth saving. I’m sorry you don’t think you deserve love. Most of all, I’m sorry that I don’t know how to help.”

Bruce turned away from her, towards the rest of the ship. “I don’t need your help. I’m fine.”

“Bruce,” she said softly (oh  _ so  _ softly). “We’ve known each other far too long for you to still be able to lie to me.”

She was rubbing circles into his back now. He wanted her, so badly that it hurt. But he couldn’t let himself, or she’d be the one that ended up regretting it - he couldn’t allow himself to hurt her too.

“You’re not alone,” Diana said, leaning down. He felt her breath run down his neck and throat. “You’ve never been alone.”

He tried telling himself that. Sometimes it worked. Most of the time he just felt like a scared boy kneeling in an alley, too stunned to cry.

Diana’s hand slid up from his back and rest on his shoulder. “You have friends, family - all of them care for you.”

And Bruce feared he would never understand why.

“Hey,” Diana cooed. “Are you alright?”

Bruce blinked, and realised that his eyes had grown misty. Pathetic. His injuries must have affected him worse than he thought if he let that slip out in front of her.

“Ye-” The word died in his mouth, and he shook his head. “No.”

She hugged him with arms as strong as the embrace was gentle. The gesture itself was not uncommon from Diana - far from it, in fact - but she managed to make it feel rare. “That’s alright.”

And just like that, Bruce fell apart. He embraced her back and rest his head on her shoulder. Her hair smelled like wildflowers and spices and the sea, and he felt guilty for liking it.

“You push yourself too hard,” Diana said. She was rubbing circles into his back again, even through the fog of his mind he could feel that. “You know you are not alone, right? I’m here for you.”

It had been awhile since he had felt this helpless. Some part of his brain was telling him he was starting to hyperventilate.

“I know,” he managed to say back. He didn’t pull back.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No. Stay.” He leaned back to meet her eyes. They were beautiful.  _ She  _ was beautiful. He was terrified. “Please.”

She kissed his forehead with a feather-light press of her lips. It burned hotter than any flame. “Of course.”

Their eyes met again. Bruce was still terrified, but he had been for most of his life - he knew how to cope - so he did the stupidest thing he had done in quite some time, and he kissed her on the lips.  


If Diana was surprised, she didn’t show it. She drew her arms up from his back and wrapped them around his neck, and when she kissed him back, it was electric. It had been quite awhile since he had been both this afraid and this ecstatic at the same time.  


Bruce let himself get lost in the moment of that kiss; felt the fear slip away. His heart was pounding in his ears - he didn’t want it to stop. Diana didn't either, if the way she clung to him was any indication.  


The Javelin rattled with a familiar shudder as the docking clamps and landing gear both activated, and he had to tighten his grip on Diana to keep them from falling away from each other.

They broke apart soon afterward. They were almost at the Watchtower, and regardless of whatever they felt, they knew there was still things that took precedence over their own personal dramas.

Diana helped Bruce slip back into the rest of his uniform. Neither of them spoke as the Javelin docked, and the terror gradually rose back in Bruce's heart until Diana took his hand.  


“We’ll talk about this later. I promise. We’ll figure it out.”

He knew she was telling the truth. They knew each other far too long to be able to lie.

_ This might ruin everything,  _ the little voice in his head said as she walked off.  _ She’ll never look at you the same way again. _

Bruce thought she would, though. She was, after all, a far better person than he was.


	2. Anxiety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI I'm still alive and so is this fic

The mountains that graced the countryside outside of Gotham were pretty enough, Clark thought. Not  _ as  _ pretty as the plains of Kansas, all draped with sheaths of wheat and corn and smelling of home, but pretty  _ enough _ . The rise and fall of the hills and valleys, all dotted with lakes and streams snaking their way through split rock and between towering evergreens was enough to bring an appreciative smile to his face.

Bruce, however, did not share the sentiment. Or, maybe he did, and keeping his lips pressed in a flat line and his brows furrowed under his cowl was his way of showing it.

Clark nearly laughed at the thought of Bruce Wayne, the Batman of Gotham, smiling at trees. He welcomed the amusement, it did wonders to quiet the slight nervousness growing in him.

For the fifteenth time since the two of them had arrived at the remains of what had once been a well a century or two ago, Bruce heaved a sigh.

Bruce was quite skilled at many things, Clark thought. Heaving sighs was one of them. Understanding social situations was not. Bruce was more irritable than normal, today: He had misread Clark’s request to join him on a hike as something “work” related, and had shown up in his costume (“Suit”, Bruce had corrected). The glare he had thrown at Clark when he saw the latter dressed in flannel and jeans had been hot enough to melt steel. Still, though he would never admit to it, Clark had noticed the faint smile of amusement that had nearly formed on Bruce’s lips after he realised the error.

“You should stop pacing,” Clark said amiably, holding eyes focused through a pair of binoculars. “You’re going to wear out the soles of your boots.”

Bruce did not stop pacing. Or sighing.  _ Drama queen. _ “I don’t like this, Clark. I should go.”

Clark turned to regard him quizzically. “Are you having that bad of a time?” It was half a joke, and half a fearful question that he was boring him.

Bruce shrugged. He almost sighed  _ again,  _ but thought better of it, evidently. “What if a hiker comes out and sees Batman bird-watching with someone who is supposed to be just a normal reporter?”

Clark rolled his eyes. “If someone’s coming I’ll hear them coming  _ long  _ before they see either of us. Super senses and all that.”

Bruce pouted. Clark knew this face well. It was the face he broke out whenever he was  _ pretending  _ to be annoyed, but was desperately trying to conceal his own amusement. It was adorable he still thought it worked.

“Yes, super senses. If they’re so super, why are you using binoculars.”

Clark glanced at the binoculars for a moment, and flushed a little at the way Bruce’s eyebrows quirked at him.

“It adds to the experience,” Clark offered, weakly. “More authentic this way.”

“Less efficient, more like,” Bruce said. He perched himself on a pile of rubble. His cape flapped in the breeze, and Clark didn’t know whether to groan or laugh at the dramatics of it all. “Clark, why are we here?”

Clark  _ did not _ look at him as he recited his excuse. “I need a reason to see my good friends now?”

Bruce scoffed leaning against the stones behind him. “If you wanted to say hello you could meet me when we’re at the Watchtower. Or the manor. Or Wayne Enterprises. Or practically anywhere but the  _ countryside. _ ”

Clark did let himself laugh this time around, because Bruce said  _ countryside _ the way most people spoke of  _ prison  _ or  _ hell. _

Bruce continued to stare at him, unimpressed. “No, seriously, why here?”

Clark made a show of looking through the binoculars as casually as possible. Even so, he was sure Bruce could notice the way he fidgeted with the collar of his shirt.

“I missed you, alright?”

There was a pause. Clark heard Bruce stand and take a few steps towards him, boots crunching on the broken pebbles beneath him.

“Miss me?” Bruce asked, incredulousness leaking into his voice. “We saw each other last week.”

Clark huffed. This wasn’t as easy as he hoped it would be. Then again, nothing ever was. “Yes, but that’s... different. We see each other when we’re stopping madmen from blowing up cities or gods from ripping the world apart. When was the last time we just met for the sake of it?”

To Clark’s surprise, Bruce answered after a brief moment of thinking. “That... cafe in Metropolis, I think. The one with the really nice pastries and-”

“The really shitty coffee,” Clark finished, smiling at the memory.

Bruce made that funny, sharp noise he always made when Clark swore. Apparently his midwestern drawl came out stronger whenever he cursed. “Yes,  _ shitty _ coffee. But why take me here?”

Clark licked his lips, and turned to regard Bruce, placing the binoculars on the ground beside him. “I don’t know-”

“Yes you  _ do. _ ” Bruce said, crossing his arms. “You’re not the sort that just randomly takes his friends out to the middle of nowhere for no good reason.”

“I thought it would be a nice change of pace,” Clark said, eyes narrowing.

“A nice change of pace would be me having two seconds out of the day to myself,” Bruce grumbled, narrowing his own eyes. “Why did  _ you  _ drag me out here?”

Sometimes, Clark could appreciate that the two of them still had enough energy in themselves to bicker like they had when they first met. This was not one of them. “Can you quit it with the grumbling and just sit down for a second so I can-”

“So you can continue dodging the question?” Bruce interjected. His hands did that thing they always did where they opened and closed on an invisible... something.

Clark didn’t enjoy being interrogated, much less by someone who ought to be thankful for a chance to relax for once,  _ goddammit. _

“I’m worried about you!” Clark blurted, annoyance getting the better of him. He felt horrible about it, but he took some degree of pleasure in the way Bruce’s face flickered blank in confusion at the outburst.

“Worried-” Bruce tilted his head, like a bat sizing up a predator (Clark managed to not flush at how stupidly, ignorantly adorable Bruce could be) “-about me?”

Clark took a breath to quiet his nerves. When he spoke, his voice was purposefully even. “Yes,  _ worried  _ about you, you grumpy... jerk.”

Clark wondered if this was the most childish thing he had ever said in his life. If not, it was definitely a close second or third.

Bruce opened his mouth, either to complain or reassure, but Clark spoke first. “ _ Everyone’s  _ worried about you, Bruce. It’s not just me, all of us can see that you’re running yourself even more ragged than usual. If you’re not prowling the city at night you’re at board meetings; if you’re not at board meetings you’re juggling raising, like, way too many kids; if you’re not doing  _ that  _ you’re finding some other way to be self-destructive.”

Clark hadn’t really put his fears into words before, but now that he had started it was too difficult to stop. Bruce stayed silent, eyes wide, as Clark continued. “You’re always too hard on yourself, but lately it’s been getting  _ even  _ worse, and I’m worried that if you don’t take ten  _ damn  _ seconds to breath you’re going to wind up dead!”

There was a long, terrible moment where neither said, or did, anything. The silence that lasted forever might as well have been the end of the world, as far as Clark was concerned. God, this whole thing was a mistake.

Finally, after what seemed like years, Bruce let his arms drop to his sides, and his expression softened into one belonging to a tired,  _ tired  _ man.

“Sorry,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “I... I’ve been... I’ve been fucking up a lot lately.”

Clark suspected that was an understatement of a magnitude usually reserved for describing natural disasters. “It’s fine, you’re stressed, is all,” he said, far too quickly.”

Bruce sighed, and pulled his cowl off, shaking his curls of black hair in the process. He closed his eyes for a moment to brush sweat off his brow, and Clark was thankful because it gave him an opportunity to control his blush before Bruce could see it.

_ Isn’t my fault he’s pretty,  _ Clark told himself.  _ Though it’s a nice bonus. _

When Bruce was finished wiping his face he stepped over and took a seat on the ground next to Clark, sliding down close enough that they were practically touching.

Oh, fuck.

“It’s not fine,” Bruce said, frowning. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve been snapping at everyone, lately, not just you.”

It wasn’t much of a reassurance, but Clark felt somewhat better anyway. Bruce always had that effect on him, and probably always would, if today went well...

Clark nodded in appreciation, and stayed quiet as Bruce continued. “Sometimes I get so wrapped up in everything I forget that I’m a master at spreading my problems with everyone.”

Clark frowned, more pained than upset. It was easy, when they were saving the day again and again, to forget that the person who hated Bruce Wayne the most in the whole world was Bruce Wayne himself.

“That’s not true,” Clark said, reaching out to hold Bruce’s shoulder. “I’m not worried because I don’t want to share your problems; I’m worried because I care about you.”

Bruce flushed, faintly, and a grin formed on his lips, despite the shakiness in his hands. Their eyes met, and Clark felt the heat spread to his own cheeks.

Oh,  _ fuck. _

“Heh. Yeah. That’s...” Bruce cleared his throat, as flustered as Clark had ever seen him. “That’s good. I... forget that sometimes.”

_ Oh, fuck. _

Clark’s mouth moved faster than his brain. “Of course I care about you, you’re-” The sentence died in the air, as Clark’s thoughts ground to a halt.

_ Say my friend, say my friend, say my friend. _

But Clark had been lying about this to himself for too long, and he wasn’t about to lie to Bruce, as well.

Especially when Bruce’s icy eyes softened so much as he waited for Clark to finish.

“You mean a lot to me,” Clark said, quietly. “A  _ lot. _ ”

For the love of God, there was no reason this conversation should be scarier then stopping an apocalypse, but here Clark was, damn near hyperventilating as he waited for Bruce to respond.

“I-” Bruce flushed, like a schoolboy asking someone to prom. “I...”

Clark took his hand off of Bruce’s shoulder and let it fall to his side. “I’m sorry,” he blurted, too fast and too loud. “This isn’t at all how I imagined telling you, and you’ve got too much to worry about as it is to even  _ think  _ of-”

Bruce made a shushing sound, and his hand dropped down to link his fingers with Clark’s. The touch made his whole body tingle like he was touching lightning.

“I feel the same,” Bruce said at last, quiet without whispering - more like a ghost then a proper person.

**_Oh, fuck._ **

Clark had many things to say about this, far, far too many for the time they had left. What he managed to say was, “Oh, thank God.”

When they kissed, they both tried to bridge the gap between them at the same time, and the fact that the desire was so  _ mutual  _ made Clark’s cheeks burn more than ever before. It was a clumsy kiss, perhaps. Awkward. Inexpert. But it was passionate, too, and for now, that was all that mattered.

When they broke apart, Clark couldn’t help but grin at the way Bruce was really,  _ desperately  _ trying to maintain his aloof expression, and failing  _ miserably. _

“That was-”

“Good,” Bruce finished. “It was good.”

For the first time since they had gotten to the mountains, Clark agreed with him wholeheartedly.

“Now what?” Clark asked, perhaps a bit too soon to appear calm.

Bruce smiled, though there was a waver in it. “Good question. I’ve got-”

“A lot to think about,” Clark finished. “Of course.”

Bruce nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

Clark felt a slight bit of fear begin to wiggle in the pit of his stomach. It evaporated when Bruce turned to him, and spoke.

“But I guess we’ll figure it out together.”

Clark smiled, and linked his hand with Bruce’s. “Yes, we will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
